


Captivity

by SoLongAndGoodbye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Non Consensual, Relationship(s), Romance, Rough Sex, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoLongAndGoodbye/pseuds/SoLongAndGoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione, the only remaining member of the Golden Trio, has been furtively battling the new regime for five years. What happens when she is captured by Draco Malfoy, now a highly ranked Death Eater? A dark tale of lust and love, betrayal and trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capture

Hermione steeled herself, gripping her vine wood wand. She gestured to Neville and the others, giving them the go sign.

Even after five years, the Ministry of Magic's main hall looked much the same. The grotesque statue before her group of ragtag rebels stood with even more devastating triumph than before, now that what it symbolized was accomplished. Finally, the muggles were drudges under the feet of purebloods.

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself not to remember. This mission was the most dangerous in months. She had to be on her guard.

"Second floor," Hermione hissed. The lifts dinged open and the five of them scrambled in. First, Cho Chang, then Ginny, Lee Jordan, Ernie Macmillan, and finally Hermione. Neville, after taking a last look around, stepped on. All of them had grim and determined faces, all with wands at the ready. They had already lost too many over the years.

The doors opened and suddenly a hell storm of spells rained on them from the unnatural dark. It reminded her of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder Malfoy had used to ambush Dumbledore's Army all those years before.

"Shit, we've been betrayed," Lee Jordan swore.

At Hermione's right, Cho desperately waved her wand to close the elevator's doors, but they would not budge.

A raspy voice called out, "It's her, the Granger mudblood!"

"Catch them alive!" ordered a cold sharp voice.

Hermione yelled, "Protego Totallum!" The spell, however, was much too weak to hold up for long. The death eaters were shooting spells at them like bullets, and like bullets, they began tearing through the shield charm.

Fortunately, Ginny yelled, "The stairs! Come on!" and broke out into a run to the dark corridor on their left. The others followed quickly.

"Pursue them!" the cold sharp voice ordered.

Hermione's shield charm was now ripped open with holes, and a Stupefy spell missed her nose by an inch.

By now, Ginny, Ernie, and Lee Jordan had reached the stairs and were starting down. Their footsteps were a rapid and storming drumbeat, driven by fear.

Suddenly, a red light hit Cho and she crumpled like a paper doll. Dread seized Hermione's heart. One rebel would go down, then inevitably would the rest of them. It was like a doomed domino stack.

Neville yelled, "Wingardium Leviosa!" making Cho's body float in the air toward the stairwell. Hermione vaguely thought of using her body as a shield, before expelling that idea in shame.

"Ahh," Hermione screamed. The pain was like a whip, hitting her hard and unexpectedly. She looked down and saw gashes of blood flowing like red paint out of her left leg.

"Hermione!" Neville cried.

"Go on! I'm fine," Hermione replied. In that moment, her leg buckled and she fell on the cold marble floor. There was another incapacitating burst of pain. She saw with horror that her right wrist, which she had reflexively held out to break her fall, was bent at an unnatural angle, and even more terrifying, she had lost grip of her wand. Hermione cursed herself. After lasting five years of rebel missions, her downfall was a stupid reflex.

As Neville was watching her in transfixed shock, a spell shot without warning from the dark, sending his wand flying and letting Cho crash onto the floor.

"Hermione—" Neville began. His round blue eyes were frozen and shinning with frenzy.

"Go! The fewer of us they catch the better!" Hermione gasped, cold sweat pouring from the pain.

"I can't leave you and Cho…" he whispered, entreating. "Hermione, I—"

"They need you to lead them. Without you, it would all fall apart. Go! We'll come back, I promise," Hermione replied.

"I'm sorry." It was with that that Neville, with a final anguished look, ran to safety. Hermione tried to quell the feeling of disappointment that took root in her. It was stupid to imagine that he would stay and sacrifice himself with her.

"Well, well, if it isn't the last living member of the Golden Trio," the cold sharp voice remarked with relish.

Hermione heard the click of boots striding briskly toward her before she blacked out.

XXX

Hermione was awoken by a muttered, "Ennervate!" The pain had shrinked to a throbbing in her head. Her leg no longer felt wet, and her wrist was no longer pulsing with agony. All of these improvements, however, were forgotten in the face of her capturers.

To her right, stood two former school mates: Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. She hadn't seen either of them in person since the loss of the war. They had become men. Malfoy's cheeks had hollowed, his shoulders broadened, and his frame lengthened, projecting a wiry strength. In short, he was more handsome than ever. Nevertheless, the greatest change was in his countenance. His grey eyes were harder than metal and his face had lost their previous vulnerability and indecision. Hermione swallowed. Malfoy looked like he could kill her without the slightest hesitation-literally easier than a flick of his wand. Beside him, Zabini was looking down his nose at her. His haughtiness had apparently only been augmented over the years, and added to that was an undisguised cruelty. His silken lips tightened when they made eye contact. Dark green eyes narrowed in condescension and (could it be?) excitement.

Before Hermione could look carefully at her surroundings and start forming an escape plan, Malfoy said, "Imperio!"

The most calming floating sensation took a hold of her. All the stress of making decisions left her shoulders, and for the first time in years she felt relaxed. Hermione was only dimly aware she was in the hands of murderous death eaters.

Malfoy ordered, "Drink." He handed her a vial of clear and odorless liquid.

A thought quickly crossed her mind that it was Veritaserum and she should under no circumstances drink it, but it soon dissolved into the wonderful peacefulness of the imperius curse. Hermione drank a refreshing mouthful and waited.

"Who are you?" Malfoy asked.

"Hermione Jean Granger."

"What position do you occupy in the Resistance?"

"A leader."

"Where are the headquarters and safe houses of the Resistance?" Zabini asked. Hermione only vaguely became aware that they were in an interrogation room and that she was lying on the table in front of her two questioners. There was a charmed quill at her waist recording every word she said. This all gave her only a twinge of worry. She told them every Resistance shelter she knew of. At the back of her mind, a voice cried out stop, but it was soon forgotten. Then, she reminded herself that the Resistance prepared for this. Every time members were captured, the Resistance would relocate, change the dates for future missions, do everything that would prove the information given up wrong.

"Who are the members of the Resistance?" Malfoy asked.

Again, she gave the names of everyone she knew. The voice became more urgent now.

"What progress has the Resistance made in the past year?" Zabini demanded. His tone made it clear that he believe no progress had been made.

Hermione honestly agreed with him. Every triumph the Resistance had was only overshadowed by greater losses. Nevertheless, she listed all of the details of the missions the Resistance had accomplished. By the end, Hermione unconsciously felt her eyes welling up with tears. She only dimly knew why.

"What are current and future missions and goals the Resistance?" Malfoy asked. He had stared at her unblinkingly the entire time. It was only now Hermione sensed impatience coming from him. She glanced at Zabini. Indeed, impatience from both of them. Somewhere, she felt dread.

However, she answered promptly and clearly. Today, they had broken into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in an attempt to find the list of arrest orders. It had been Lee Jordan's idea. Afterwards, they would have tried to evacuate the targeted families and relocate them. In July, they would attempt a prison break. The ultimate goal was to assassinate Voldemort.

Malfoy and Zabini both smirked at the ridiculous idea of a ragtag group of less than fifty people attempting to murder the most powerful man in Europe.

Half of Hermione wanted to slap them and the other half wanted to smirk with them. Even Harry had died trying to bring Voldemort down. How could their plans be any different? 

Lost in her thoughts, she missed the exchanged look between the two men and failed to notice that the quill had dropped back onto the table, lifeless.


	2. The Task

The hallway they led her out to was filled with orange light. Hermione’s eyes squinted against the radiance of the sunrise. She deduced that it was most likely 7 or 8 in the morning. In front of her, Malfoy and Zabini were arguing.

“She must be taken to the Dark Lord,” Zabini said.

“She’s of too little consequence. The presence of the mudblood would anger him,” Malfoy replied.

“He is still obsessed with the Golden Trio. She is last remaining one. I am certain the Dark Lord would want to deal with her himself.”

Malfoy ran a long fingered hand through his silky pale blond hair. “All right. We’ll seek the Dark Lord.”

After they exited the Ministry, Malfoy gripped her arm and apparated. The three of them spun to a stop in front of a desolate field. Even though it was April, the grass looked yellow and brittle. 

The two death eaters rolled up their left sleeves and showed their dark marks, the ink glowing green.

Suddenly, a metal door appeared out of thin air. Hermione made a mental note to herself. The Resistance had been trying for years to find where Voldemort’s headquarters were. Now, she had the key.

Inside was a majestic hall, similar to the underground splendor of the Chamber of Secrets. However, the towering pillars, entwined intimately with snakes, gave way to an enormous statue of Voldemort. The red, slitted eyes glowed unnaturally bright, giving his face an appearance of gruesome life. 

Malfoy declared, “We seek an audience with the Dark Lord.”

“Business?” the statue asked, eyes narrowing.

“We bring him a leader of the Resistance, the mudblood Hermione Granger.”

“Granger, you say? One of the Resistance,” the statue hissed.

At its feet a doorway opened. They entered a subterranean tunnel filled with green light with no visible source. Many tunnels branched from the main, but Malfoy and Zabini walked straight on. Hermione’s heart was beating faster with each second. She willed her feet to stop and run back, but they would not obey.  
Finally, they reached a huge medallion of silver snakes, each coiled around the other.

There was a hiss from within, and the snakes slithered to life, dropping to the floor one by one, revealing the entry. Each snake reared up and hissed as they stepped in. Malfoy and Zabini seemed unconcerned. 

The room dimly lit by the fireplace, only showing them the silhouette of a tall form by the huge, masterfully carved desk.

As they approached and their eyes became used to the half light, the figure became frighteningly clear. It was Lord Voldemort, very much alive. 

The snakelike features curved into a gruesome lipless smile as he saw her. 

“My lord,” Malfoy began. “We have captured Hermione Granger.”

“Good, very good,” Voldemort hissed. “Take off your imperius curses.”

Hermione gave a gasp of pain as her mind unclouded and she could feel every inch of her humiliation, panic, and unsolvable predicament. Even though she had her will back, Hermione could do nothing except stand and await her death. 

“The last remaining member… Tell me, how does it feel to live in this new world that I've constructed? Everything is in its rightful place. Only, you and this foolish Resistance keep trying to destroy it.” Voldemort stopped in front of her. 

She made herself look defiantly into his inhuman slits. 

“I thought the deaths of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley would have dissuaded you.” Voldemort said. "Not enough, I see."

“Go to Hell.” Hermione answered through gritted teeth, her fists clenched.

Voldemort laughed, a high chilling sound that made her hair stand up. “The mudblood still has faith I see. It seems a pity to kill her now, when her spirit is still whole.” He murmured to himself. 

“My lord, if I may, I can break her spirit,” Malfoy said. He bowed low. 

There was a silence as Voldemort regarded him. Malfoy met his gaze unflinchingly. 

The Dark Lord smiled humorlessly. “Yes, I see your fervor.” He strode to his desk and sat back. “The task is yours, Draco.” Voldemort took a magnificent peacock quill and began writing. The ordeal was over. 

Before they left, Voldemort hissed, “Do not disappoint me.”

Outside, back in the desolate field, Zabini turned to Malfoy. “For such an easy task, the Dark Lord will expect you to get it done within the month. Unless you're feeling overwhelmed..." 

Malfoy replied looking at Hermione, “I'll do it in two weeks.”

“Hmph.” Zabini disappeared with a crack. 

“Now, mudblood, you are mine,” Malfoy declared.


	3. Beginning

Malfoy and Hermione apparated in front of a pair of elegant iron wrought gates. This is it, thought Hermione. With a yank, she got out of his grip and started running towards the nearby woods. Unsurprisingly, vines shot out of Malfoy’s wand, coiling tightly around her. 

“Really, Granger? Did you think escaping would be that easy?” Malfoy sneered.

Hermione spit in his face.

Calmly, he wiped his cheek and said, “Crucio!”

A thousand needles were whittling into her body while invisible hammers slammed into her head. As suddenly as the pain started, it stopped. Hermione lay panting on the ground.

“I trust you will know not to show any impertinence again, mudblood,” Malfoy said. 

A ‘fuck you’ was on her lips before she bit it away at the sight of his threatening wand. She gasped when recognition hit her. His wand was the same one Harry had taken five years ago. Malfoy must have taken it back when Harry was murdered. A strong wave of hate washed over her.

The vine ropes pulled her back onto her feet, forcing Hermione to follow her capturer. Malfoy made a gesture to the gates with his left arm, causing them to disappear in a smoke of metallic grey.

The inner gardens were gorgeous. White peacocks strutted on perfectly manicured emerald grass. The pure early morning light made the marble fountains look as if they were bubbling molten gold. Ahead stood an imposing white grey manor. Its face looked noble and grim, a completely different appearance than the last time she was here. Then, it had looked haunted and disfigured.

Hermione remembered suddenly. “How many of us did you capture?” she asked.

It was a while before he answered, “You and Cho Chang.”

“What did you do to her?” Hermione asked sharply.

“Avery took her,” and that was all he would say.

“Who betrayed us? How did you know about the Ministry breach?” she asked. 

Malfoy ignored her.

The inside of the manor was even more sumptuous than the impressive outside. In the hall, a magnificent carpet was stretched luxuriously over the stone floor while an enormous chandelier hung above. Hermione noticed that it was the same chandelier that had saved Harry, Ron, and she all those years ago. 

“What is a mudblood doing here, Draco?” a haughty white-haired wizard asked from his frame. 

“Her sort of filth has no place in the ancient Malfoy home,” a sharp-featured wisp of a woman reprimanded on the opposite wall. 

“The Dark Lord entrusted her to me,” Malfoy answered impatiently. “Fobby!” he called.

With a crack, a young house-elf appeared. She wore a white pillowcase, the slave's garment. Her golf-ball sized green eyes widened when she saw Hermione. “Yes, master?” the elf asked in a high-pitched squeak.

“Burn her clothes and give her the appropriate garment. Take her to the servants’ quarters and set her to cleaning, or cooking, or whatever need you have of her. Do not let her escape. You are in charge of her.” Malfoy ordered.

“Yes, master,” Fobby squeaked and gave a bow that scraped her long pointed nose on the carpet. 

“Follow Fobby’s instructions. You are now a slave, lower in status than even a house-elf. Understand? Don’t even think of escaping or else.” With a threatening grey-eyed glare, Malfoy started upstairs. 

“This way, miss.” Fobby padded with big bare feet to the corridor on her left. They passed more portraits of Malfoy ancestors, all looking at Hermione with undisguised distaste, muttering, “Mudblood, here!” under their breaths. 

“Fobby, did you know Dobby?” Hermione asked gently.

“Oh, yes, miss. He was my older brother.”

“Did you know that Bellatrix Lestrange killed him?”

Fobby gasped in shock. “Miss mustn’t talk about such things. Dobby was a bad elf.” Nevertheless, her enormous green eyes welled up with tears.

“Dobby was helping Harry Potter. He died to help Harry defeat Lord Voldemort. Don’t you want to make sure Dobby didn’t die in vain?”

“Oh, why is miss bringing up such bad things?” Fobby wailed, beginning to cry in earnest now. “Fobby’s master is a loyal servant of the Dark Lord. Fobby would never dare to harm him. Dobby was a bad elf.”

Hermione sighed and patted Fobby on her back. She had forgotten how doggedly loyal house elves were. “There, there, Fobby.”  
Fobby shrinked back. “Miss is a mudblood. Miss mustn’t touch Fobby.”

Like in Kreacher, pureblood supremacy had infected her. Hermione tried another method. “Fobby, does your master treat you well?”

Fobby nodded, hiccupping from her sobs. “Master hic Draco is hic a most hic gene-hic–rous master. He gave Fobby this.” Fobby pointed to her immaculate and treasured pillowcase. 

“But, Fobby, wouldn’t it be better if you were free?”

“Free? Oh, what is Miss saying? Fobby never wants to be free, never. Fobby wants to serve Master Draco forever.”

Hermione sighed again. So much for the SPEW approach. She should have known. 

The manor was huge. There were winding corridors and unexpected rooms in which Hermione knew she would get lost. It’s okay, she said to herself. Just find a window, break it when Fobby’s not looking, and run away, but a part of her understood it was not going to be that easy. 

“Fobby, what does Malfoy do?” Hermione asked. She needed as much information about the Death Eaters as possible.

“Master does – Master is an important servant of the Dark Lord. He told me!” Fobby said excitedly. 

“Yes, but what missions does he perform for the Dark Lord?” Hermione inquired impatiently.

“Missions… I don’t know. It is not Fobby’s business.”

“Does he live alone here?”

Fobby nodded. “The old master passed away four years ago, and the mistress remarried.”

Hermione had heard about Lucius Malfoy’s death. Apparently, he had died in one of the ensuing battles to take ahold of France. It had restored the Malfoys’ place among the Death Eaters.

“Who comes to visit?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, many people – Miss Greengrass, Mr. —“ Fobby gasped. “No, Fobby must protect master’s secrets. Miss must stop asking Fobby questions.”

Hermione bit her lip. Fobby was quick. 

“Here is your room, Miss.” Fobby opened the creaking door and led her into a small room. The bed was narrow, but seemed able to fit her height. There was a small slit of a window that let in a little light. It was musty and dingy, but looked homey enough. In the Resistance, Hermione always had to share quarters and moved around so much that she had forgotten how it felt to have her own room. No, she said to herself. I’m going to escape soon. With a snap of her fingers, the house elf replaced Hermione's clothes with a white rectangular garment much like the pillowcase Fobby was wearing. 

“That's Miss's new clothes. Fobby’s room is next door, so Miss should not try escaping.” 

“Okay, Fobby,” Hermione lied brightly.

“Now, Fobby must make breakfast. Miss can—“

“Actually, Fobby, I know how to make a delicious breakfast. I can make breakfast for Malfoy.”

Fobby looked uncertain but nevertheless nodded. 

“What does Malfoy usually have for breakfast?” she asked.

“Master usually has tea, ham, eggs, toast, and mushrooms.” Fobby counted off the components on her spindly fingers.

“All right. Just show me to the kitchen and I’ll get going. Then, you can have time to do your other duties.” Hermione smiled deviously.

The kitchen was enormous-the size of a small apartment. After Hermione hurried Fobby off, she wished fervently that she had a wand. She was never going to find anything in this kitchen. Better yet, she wouldn't have to find anything. She could just blast her way out of this damned manor with a Reducto curse. 

About an hour later, a lightly sweating Hermione arranged everything as artfully as possible on the plate. Sure, the bacon was slightly burned, the eggs overcooked, the toast was an unsightly shade of brown and black and the hash browns were a dripping mass, but Hermione thought she had done as well as possible under the circumstances. Best of all, she had found a bottle of cleaning liquid under the sink and had surreptitiously mixed it in with her strong brew of tea. 

Fobby was about to cry after seeing Hermione’s handiwork. “No, miss. Fobby cannot serve Master that.” She pointed at the mass of food like it was a particularly disgusting and big cockroach.  
“It’s fine, Dobby. Your master is hungry. He won’t mind.” Hermione pushed her out of the kitchen. “Don’t forget the tea!” 

When she was alone, Hermione started to climb onto the counter. She had to break the diamond paned window and escape. There was still the possibility that Malfoy wouldn't actually die. 

With a crash, Hermione broke the window using a heavy iron pan. The glass cascaded down like icicles. Taking a deep breath, she tried to jump out onto the grass about five feet below. It felt like she had run into a brick wall. Nursing her smarting cheek, she touched the open space before her. As she had suspected, there was an invisible barrier. “Fuck,” she cursed.

“What is Miss doing?” Fobby shrieked. 

Hermione jumped down. “Fobby…” She searched for an excuse. 

“Miss was trying to escape. Bad Fobby! Bad Fobby!” Fobby began to bang her head against the nearest wall. 

“Fobby, Fobby, stop! Please stop! I won’t do it again,” Hermione implored. 

Fobby slowed to a stop. “Fobby needs to bring you to see Master. Master is very angry.”

Malfoy indeed was very angry. Hermione noted that anger seemed to pale his features until he was a tight lipped ghost. 

“Come here,” he ordered. “I want you to taste this breakfast first.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“To make sure it’s edible.” He glared down in disgust at the plate before him. 

“Okay. I can assure you that it is edible, despite appearances.” Hermione sat herself in the ornately carved high backed cherry wood chair at his right and reached for his fork. 

The meal was indeed unsavory, but, from experience, Hermione knew it was not the worst of her cooking. Malfoy seemed to watch her with horrified fascination as she actually ate the “food.” 

“See? I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Hermione asked after she was done.

Malfoy raised his thin blond eyebrows and replied, “All right. I don’t have time for Fobby to make another meal, but you are not permitted in the kitchen again.”  
Hermione handed back his fork and he started eating. He gagged a little at the hash browns, but otherwise kept on eating. 

“There’s tea to wash it down,” Hermione hinted.

Malfoy started to reach for the cup, but froze halfway. “It’s poisoned isn’t it?” he demanded.

“Poisoned?” Fobby gasped. She began to bang her head on the wall again.

“Fobby, stop!” Malfoy ordered. “Next time, be more careful. Do not take your eyes off her.” 

“Yes, master. Thank you, master,” Fobby replied, eyes glowing with admiration and gratitude.

“Of course the tea isn’t poisoned,” Hermione said in her most sincere voice.

“Drink it first, then.” Malfoy handed her the cup.

“All right,” Hermione replied in an overly confident voice. She pursed her lips tightly and pretended to drink.

“Stop pretending, Granger. I know it’s poisoned.” He sniffed. “Probably cleaning liquid.” A stone dropped in Hermione’s stomach. 

“I’m surprised you now what cleaning liquid smells like,” Hermione retorted.

Malfoy smirked. “There are many things you don’t know about me. But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I believe you just attempted to kill me.” He said this with dangerous nonchalance. “As I warned you before, this calls for punishment.” Just in time to save her, the majestic grandfather clock chimed. It was eight o'clock. 

“I’ll deal with you when I come home.” The door banged and Hermione and the house elf were left alone.


	4. Control

Fobby had learned from her mistake. For the rest of the day, she kept close watch on Hermione. First they cleaned up the kitchen, then they scrubbed the grand marble staircase (twice), squeezing in a quick lunch in between, and finally, as Fobby was making dinner for the master, Hermione cleaned the windows. As the clock ticked, more and more dread pooled in her stomach. She willed herself to stop imagining and focus on the task at hand.

After the table had been set and the dishes finished, Malfoy arrived at the stroke of seven. 

Hermione decided it was best for her to remain in the kitchen while Fobby served. There, she ate the leftovers from cooking Malfoy’s sumptuous meal for her dinner. The food almost took her worries away. There was bouillabaisse, juicy ham, a chicken pie, and treacle tart. Harry’s favorite dessert was treacle tart, Hermione remembered. She swallowed. Her throat felt a little tight. 

“Master wants you, Miss, in the drawing room” Fobby said. 

Hermione wolfed down the rest of her slice and got up. 

Malfoy had finished the dinner and was drinking from a tumbler, staring pensively into a great fire on the hearth. 

“Granger, why do you think I called you here?” His eyes didn’t leave the flames.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Hermione replied, swallowing.

“Are you afraid of me?” Malfoy turned and looked into her face.

“No,” Hermione said firmly.

The thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he came closer. Hermione tilted her head to look at him defiantly in the eyes.

He murmured, “You’re lying.” Hermione felt his breath on her face as he exhaled.

“Do you think I’ve changed much, after five years?” Malfoy asked.

Hermione smirked. “No, you’re still the spoiled, cowardly boy you were before.”

He chuckled huskily. “Another lie. I can see into you, Granger.”

Could he be a Legimens? She looked away and tried to step back, but he caught her by the arm. 

“You’ve been dreading your punishment, haven’t you?” Malfoy asked. 

“No,” Hermione replied stubbornly. She pulled away, but his hands were like metal claws. 

“Such an unconvincing liar.” Malfoy suddenly released her and she landed gracelessly on the floor with a thump. Fortunately, the carpet cushioned much of her fall.

“I’ve had to change,” Malfoy said, mostly to himself. “As a Death Eater, you need to... After Father’s death…” He suddenly stopped. “Crucio!” His wand pointed mercilessly at Hermione. 

A scream ripped from her throat. Knives cut into her while millions of ants bit into her skin. In her writhing, Hermione glimpsed Malfoy’s stone face, coldly watching her suffer. This time, the curse went on for much longer. When Malfoy finally stopped, her body was covered in cold sweat and she panted weakly, looking up at him from the ground. 

When Hermione finally caught her breath, she said shakily, “If – if you give me a wand, Malfoy, I will tear you apart.”

“Do you really believe I would fall for that?” he asked. His tone was icy. 

“Then you're conceding your loss.” 

Malfoy flicked his wand, and Hermione cursed herself for flinching. He smirked, having seen her weakness. He walked over to where she lay and crouched. 

Smoothing away the strands of hair that were plastered to her face, Malfoy whispered in her ear, “Now, your punishment is over. Aren’t you glad?”

“Don’t touch me!” Hermione said. 

“Fine,” Malfoy breathed. “How about you touch yourself? Imperio!”

The weakness and echoes of pain vanished. Only the freeing sensation of the curse remained. Hermione exhaled in serenity. There were no worries, no feelings, just the wait for her master’s orders.

“Address me as master, only.” Malfoy ordered. “Get up. Take off your clothes.”

Hermione easily removed the pillowcase-like dress. The silence was abruptly broken by high-pitched giggling. In the painting on the opposite wall, three fairies were pointing and laughing. Hermione only vaguely noticed their shining beady eyes. 

“Sit on the recliner. Spread your legs and rest your feet on the ottoman.” 

The worn leather of the recliner against her skin reminded her of her childhood home. Her parents had a set of black leather couches. They were gone now. 

Malfoy’s grey eyes drank her body in greedily. Even though he had called her breasts small, they were prettily nested against the mudblood’s slim torso. His gaze lowered and feasted on the sight of that little bunch of curls above her cunt.

“Part your lips for me.”

Hermione did not need to ask which ones. With cold fingers, she exposed her pussy. She looked across to Malfoy. He was transfixed by the sight. It irked her that the thought of Malfoy wanting her made her cunt throb. He was her capturer and torturer. 

“Touch yourself,” he ordered after clearing his throat. 

She rubbed her clit, just as she would when she lay in her bed, cold and alone, in need to relieve stress. From experience, she knew that being rough made her come the fastest. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus on her pleasure. With the imperius curse in place, it was even possible to imagine Malfoy wasn’t there. 

The giggling of the fairies became higher pitched and they started to buzz with excitement.

“Put this in your cunt.” Hermione snapped her eyes open. Malfoy was holding out a thick yellow banana. In the back of her mind, she felt a twinge of annoyance that he couldn’t think of anything more imaginative. 

It was easy to insert the banana since she was dripping wet. With a groan, she moved the banana in and out, unconsciously thrusting her hips at the lovely friction. Before Hermione closed her eyes again, she caught sight of Malfoy’s pulsing erection in his hand. He had taken it out from his slacks and began pumping it forcefully. 

It was unfortunately with this image burned into her mind that Hermione came. Her cunt contracted gratifyingly around nothing. It was as if all at once, an enormous tension had dissolved from her body. 

Just as Hermione sighed contentedly, a rough voice ordered, “Take me in your mouth.”

Malfoy was pouting and panting, holding his cock tightly in a fist. His arrogant face was marred in unfinished desire as his cloudy eyes burned into her. She was dimly aware that he was fully dressed while she was completely naked. 

Hermione rose delicately from the recliner and stepped towards him. Somewhere in her mind, she desperately wished he would just miraculously come and leave her alone. However, Malfoy groaned deep in his throat and commanded, “Blow me.”

As he desired, Hermione quickly dropped to her knees. The large, veined member was glistening with pre-come. Closing her eyes, Hermione put her small hands on his hips and licked the tip. She could feel his body shiver under his fingertips. He tasted bitter, but not as unpleasant as she had expected. The fairies in the painting had stopped giggling and were now buzzing amongst themselves.

The wand still clutched in Malfoy’s hand instructed her nonverbally to take him deep in her mouth. Trying to relax her throat, she complied. Hermione had only done this one time before, to Victor. 

Hermione began to lick and suck. Her inner being shuddered with disgust at what she was made to do.

“Fuck!” Malfoy growled. His hand gripped her long, unruly hair and pushed her head up and down in a bobbing motion. 

Surprised, Hermione almost gagged and her teeth accidentally enclosed on his cock. 

With a hiss, Malfoy drew away abruptly. “You bitch!” he ground out. The fairies buzzed louder. 

A voice inside her sniggered. She had given him a little of the pain he had given her. 

Despite the bite, his member looked more erect than ever. “This time, mudblood, I’m giving you another chance. Bite me again and I fear to think what will happen.” 

Hermione wanted it to be over quickly, so she knew she had to make it as good as possible. She attacked his cock with fervor, trying to take in as much of him as possible, doing things that made him pull her hair in frenzy. 

It still took a while for him to come. And when he did, Malfoy commanded, “Swallow.”

She swallowed his seed, unwillingly noting the salty and bitter aftertaste. He withdrew his flaccid member from her mouth with an audible pop. Saliva and who knows what else ran down her chin, darkening spots on the intricate rug. She wondered when she and Fobby would clean it. 

Malfoy exhaled in contentment. “It could use some work, Granger, but that wasn’t bad.” He removed the imperius curse. 

It was the closest thing to a compliment she’d heard from him in her life, and it was in relation to a blowjob. She wanted to scream at him, punch him, kick him, strangle him. She wanted to sob. But, Hermione only sat on her heels, mute.

“You’re dismissed.” With a final unreadable look at her, he disappeared from the drawing room.

Hermione, suddenly exhausted, slipped on the pillowcase dress and walked back to her room. She promised herself she would wake up later to kill Malfoy in his sleep. But, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep.


	5. Oblivion

The sunlight woke Hermione. She opened her eyes blearily, then in alarm. Damn it! She had slept through Malfoy’s scheduled murder. Hermione beat her fists on the comforter.

“Is Miss awake?” Fobby asked, her head peeking shyly through the doorway.

“Yes, Fobby.” Hermione planned to try again tonight.

“Could Miss go with Fobby to upstairs to dust?”

“Yes, just a minute. Oh, what about preparing breakfast?” Yes, she would go up to Malfoy’s room in the dark, take his wand, and kill him. 

“Master already ate. Oh, would Miss like something?”

“No, I’m used to not eating breakfast.” Hermione smiled discreetly. Yes! She didn’t have to see Malfoy this morning. On the other hand, it was quite unusual that he hadn’t ordered Fobby to wake her up when she overslept. Perhaps he did not want to see her either.

The second floor had more rooms than Hermione could have imagined. She didn’t understand why the Malfoy family maintained such a large manor. Only rarely would the rooms all be occupied, if ever. It was just another way for the Malfoys to emphasize their pureblood status and wealth.

The rooms were not bare, either. With Fobby keeping an eye on her, Hermione had to carefully dust the multitude of stupid little trinkets the Malfoys had accumulated. There were many Order of Merlin First Classes (most likely for making bribes to the Ministry), several jewelry boxes, delicate ornaments, sinister looking books, decanters full of mysterious liquid, several gold cauldrons, numerous heavy silver goblets with the Malfoy family crest, and other ostentatious objects. None of them had any obvious magical properties that could help her to escape. There was even a book that shouted insults at her when she picked it up; A smoking diadem; A mirror that showed an impossibly beautiful version of herself. Hermione even found a Firebolt in one of the closets. That gave her an idea.

“Fobby, will we be tidying up the garden today? The grass looks a bit long,” Hermione said.

“The grass! Fobby forgot! But, Miss is not allowed outside. Master said so.” Fobby was clutching her pillowcase in trepidation.

Every cloud has a silver lining, Hermione thought. “Why don’t you go alone. I won’t try to escape. I promise.”

“But Master, Master said to watch Miss at all times. Fobby must follow his orders. I will ask Master about the grass later.” Fobby nodded firmly. “Yes. Good Fobby.”

Hermione went back to dusting a particularly large green Faberge egg.

XXX

Today, Malfoy didn’t come back until midnight. Fobby made a big fuss over him when he came in. Hermione could hear it from her room a floor down. 

“Master is home!” Fobby squealed. “Oh Fobby must heat up Master’s dinner.”

“Not anything too complicated Fobby. I’m exhausted.” Malfoy did indeed sound weary. Hermione hope fervently that he wouldn’t ask for her.

Miraculously, he didn’t. Hermione fell into a light sleep. She dreamed that Malfoy immobilized her as Voldemort laughed coldly and hissed, “Avada Kedavra!”

With a jolt, she woke up. Worry tore at her heart. She had to escape. In the bright moonlight, Hermione dressed in her slave’s uniform. She padded down the corridor silently and made her way up the stairs to the third floor. Malfoy’s bedroom was not on the second floor, she knew. That left either the third floor or the fourth.

The third floor comprised of larger rooms that the second. After trying door after door, Hermione noticed that the rooms were decorated more expensively as well. The Malfoys must save the best for themselves. The second floor must be for guests.  
Finally in the east wing, at the very end of the corridor, she came to a magnificently carved mahogany door. There were two graceful unicorns carved into it, each looking longingly at the other. This was the master bedroom. Hermione was sure of it. She slowly turned the brass handle. It wouldn’t move. The door was locked. 

Hermione slumped against the door. Just when she had almost succeeded—

The doors suddenly opened. Caught by surprise, Hermione staggered but caught herself. She raised her head. The large four-poster bed was mussed but empty.

“What are you doing outside my door, Granger?” Malfoy asked. He was lounging in an armchair by the fire, swishing a tumbler of amber liquid. 

“How did you know I was there?” Hermione asked.

He nodded at the foe glass on the mantelpiece. It displayed a blanching Hermione.

“I was – I was just wondering if you needed anything,” Hermione said. This was a terrible lie and it would definitely cost her.  
“I thought you wanted me dead. Why so solicitous now?” Malfoy replied in a deadpan voice. He took a gulp from the tumbler.

“I want to get along with you. You are the one with the—the” Hermione swallowed and forced out, “power.”

A light smile played at Malfoy’s lips. “You finally acknowledge it. I must say it’s an improvement.” He took another swallow of the amber nectar. “So, you want to convince me to do something? What? Not send you back to the Dark Lord? Ask him to spare your life?”

Hermione said nothing. 

He laughed in derision. “That’s impossible, mudblood. I’m never going to risk my skin for yours, for anyone for that matter.”

Honestly, Hermione never expected him to, but the concession of this truth was like a knife to her stomach. When she thought about Harry and Ron, countless others who had sacrificed their lives to stop Voldemort, Hermione clenched her fists. “You are a selfish coward, Malfoy. All you care about is prolonging your pitiful and sick life.”

“Tell me, you filthy little mudblood, what, to me, should matter more than my life?” When you are dead and buried, even if people are singing your praises on the streets, that’s still all you are—dead. I say, live to the fullest now. You are born alone and die alone. No one cares more about you than yourself. Why should you give up your life for others or the greater good? Only fools would be tricked into it.”

Hermione didn’t answer. 

“You see my point, don’t you?” Malfoy tossed back his drink and smashed the empty tumbler down, rattling the frame of a family photograph. 

“Harry and Ron died for the greater good,” Hermione whispered, eyes unwillingly filling with tears.

“Ah, your little buddies. Potter and Weasley were idiots. They died in vain.”

“Harry saved your life in the Room of Requirement. He risked his life to save yours. You are the most ungrateful-” 

“Silence!”

Tears trickled down Hermione’s cheeks. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from sobbing. Harry and Ron died heroes. Their deaths meant something, didn’t they?

 

“You and I, we’re alive,” Malfoy said in a gentler tone. He stopped in front of her and almost tenderly wiped away her tears. “What good is it to cry for the dead?”

“You have no compassion, Malfoy,” Hermione said. He was getting too close. She could count his long blond eyelashes and, was that grief in his eyes? 

“Compassion is only a dangerous weakness,” he said bitterly. Before Hermione could think about his words, Malfoy took her face in his cold hands. Leaning in, he nuzzled her cheek gently before placing his lips on hers and extracting a kiss.

Hermione was frozen by confusion. Malfoy would never kiss her like this. She would never kiss him like this. She pulled away brusquely and slapped him. 

The sound of skin hitting skin reverberated through the still air. Malfoy’s eyes were wide, shocked. Likely no one had ever slapped him before. Hermione’s hand was smarting, but at the same time, she was glad she did it.

Malfoy began to laugh maniacally. “Good, I deserved it,” Hermione thought she heard before his wand pointed at her and she was thrown onto the bed like a rag doll. With a swish, he vanished his clothes. 

“I’m sick of you being under the Imperius curse. I want you to feel it,” Malfoy hissed. His wand made a ripping motion in the air and her pillowcase dress fell apart. 

Hermione struggled to get him off, pushing with her arms, kicking with her feet. Malfoy caught her wrists in a steel grip and brought them above her head. Though she couldn’t see, she felt a rope bind her hands together. There was a clatter of wood beside her head. She turned and saw his wand only inches away, set on the nightstand. Hermione wanted to laugh and cry. Her freedom was so close and yet unreachable.

“Don’t fight me, Granger,” he breathed, freely running his hands down her sides, skimming her breasts, and catching her thighs. 

“Why? Why are you doing this?” Hermione asked desperately. 

With a wrench, Malfoy opened her legs and wrapped them around his waist. The hardness of his torso lay against her sex, against her clit. As he moved down to take one of her erect nipples in his mouth, the friction of his body against her flower made her shiver and grow wet. Hermione hated the base and uncivilized way her body reacted to him.

“Why?” Malfoy murmured as he sucked and bit lightly at her breast. A moan escaped from her throat. His hands moved down to clench at her waist. “Because I need to find oblivion, and you—“ His finger slipped into her, curling and exploring. “You’re wet, Granger,” he said hoarsely. 

Hermione flushed and turned her face away. She was glad she was wet. It would hurt less.

Malfoy inhaled her scent deeply before rearing up and driving himself into her in one powerful stroke. “You, mudblood, bring me oblivion.”  
Hermione squeezed her thighs against him at the words. 

Malfoy buried his head in her shoulder and thrust roughly against her, his breathing ragged in her ear. 

This time, while it still hurt, the pain became almost pleasurable. She closed her eyes firmly and willed herself not to think about who was inside her. With every stroke, the tension in her abdomen tightened and Hermione rocked her hips, urgently searching for release. She wanted to find oblivion too, to have a reprieve from this cold and harsh world, where uncertainty was rife and death just around the corner. But, before she could reach it, Malfoy pulled out and with a groan spilled his hot seed on her torso. There was a warm kiss to her neck, and a finger slipped into her while a thumb brushed against her clit. 

“Draco,” Hermione gasped in pleasure. 

Suddenly, he withdrew from her as if burned. 

“Get out, mudblood.” Malfoy’s eyes were like chips of ice. “You’ve served your purpose.” He grabbed his wand and vanished the rope tying her hands. 

Hermione berated herself for her surprise. She sat up and brazenly used his grey silk sheets to wipe away his cum. It was growing unpleasantly cold on her skin. 

Malfoy pointed his wand at the torn uniform and it neatly sewed itself back onto her. She left without another word.


	6. Risk

Hermione spent the entire day trying not to think about what happened last night. She tried to count all wooden panels of the “old master’s” bedroom floor as she swept them clean. She tried to focus on airing the unused and dusty bed of the “old mistress.” And she desperately tried to focus on changing “dear master’s” sheets, attempting to ignore a darkened spot and its origin. 

She couldn’t decide what she felt when Fobby told her that Malfoy would not return until the next day. There was at once a trickle of disappointment, then pervading relief. 

He didn’t come back the next day either. Nor the day after that. 

Hermione tried several escape plans in those days. She attempted to send messages to the Resistance, but she couldn’t find any Floo powder nor an owl. She tried to find secret passageways out of the Manor. There were none, at least not visible without a wand. Finally, on the last day, she tried to trick Fobby into letting her out by saying that they were preparing a picnic to surprise the master. Even though the house elf had debated to herself for a long time on that one, Fobby had remembered, “Master does not like surprises.”

After three days trapped in the manor with no other human company, Hermione would have given a leg to get out. If Fobby squeaked another word about how dear Malfoy was, she would bang her head against the wall. Each day, Hermione looked longing out of the sparkling clean windows out into the garden. She imagined the fresh spring air would be like champagne to her lungs, the blue sky like the strongest pepper up potion. However, most of all, she wanted to return to the Resistance. Hermione’s life goals and the Resistance’s were virtually undistinguishable. She had been one of the founders after the loss of the war and had dedicated every minute of the past five years of her life to its cause. Somewhere in side of her, Hermione knew that her devotion to the Resistance was a way to atone. Out of her best friends, she was the one who survived. She should have died. She should have died with them rather than cling to life like a coward in this unchangeable world. 

“Oh, Master has arrived!” Fobby said. It was evening on the fourth day. “He has company!” Hermione was polishing the endless silverware in the pantry.

“Who?” Hermione asked. 

“Master Blaise and Master Theo,” Fobby squealed excitedly. 

Dread clenched at her heart. More death eaters. “Oh great, Fobby. I’ll just continue polishing the silver.”

“No, no Miss. Master called for you.” Fobby took her hand and pulled her away.

The three were fully dressed in Death Eater robes. The need for masks had disappeared when Voldemort publicized his control of the British Ministry of Magic about a month after the loss of the war.

“Ah, the mudblood,” Malfoy sneered. 

Zabini’s eyes roved over her unpleasantly before declaring, “Still filthy, I see.”

Nott didn't even look at her.

“Mudblood, I want to show you where your kind truly belongs. Do you want to see it?” 

Hermione shook her head. He was going to throw her in Azkaban. Even Malfoy was better than Dementors. On the other hand, she was going to see other members of the Resistance.

“Too bad. Imperio! Now follow us.” At the gates, Malfoy took her arm and disapparated. 

They arrived in a dank street alley. This was not Azkaban, but it certainly wasn’t an innocent ice cream parlor either. Steam was curling sinisterly from the sewers. Hermione shivered. It was cold and she only had a thin pillowcase to cover her. There was a grimy black door in the stained brick wall facing them. Nott tapped it once with his wand and it immediately swung open.

Hermione was forced to step inside after them. She let out a small breath of relief. The room they were in looked normal enough. There was a glass chandelier hanging above on the gold plaster ceiling and several unoccupied red leather armchairs clustered around little tables. It almost looked like a posh version of her parents’ practices’ waiting rooms.

“Ah, welcome Mr. Nott, Mr. Zabini, and Mr. Malfoy,” a flirtatious voice said. 

Hermione turned. A large busty woman in a rather stretched satin dress was just stepping into the room. Dark red lipstick was smeared generously on her lips and she had so much eye shadow on she looked like she was sporting two ringers. The heavy layer of paint failed to hide the wrinkles on her broad face. Even though Hermione was closest to her, the woman didn’t spare her a glance and instead smiled broadly at the three men. 

“We want the Imperial room,” Malfoy ordered. “Bring Natya to us.”

“Luna, too,” Nott said. Hermione’s heart stopped. He didn’t mean Luna Lovegood, surely? She had been captured at the last battle. The Resistance had thought she’d died when they didn’t find her in Azkaban on their last prison raid.

“Of course, sirs. Right this way. You’re lucky you’ve come early. Otherwise, Natya and Luna would be too occupied,” the woman tittered. At Zabini’s glare, she stuttered, “Of-of course, you sirs have significant priority. We would never-never dare to let such highly ranked uhh Death-Death Eaters wait.” She struggled to smile, which only caused her rouged mouth to twitch horribly.

At last, she came to a door at the very end of the hall. Above the door, in glittering gold font, hovered the words “Imperial Chamber: Let your dreams come true with the Empress of Your Dreams.”

A voice at the back of Hermione’s mind screamed to run away, but she stood dumbly and obediently entered after them. 

“The girls will be here shortly,” the woman said tremulously before leaving.

As if it had anticipated three patrons, the room was equipped with three luxurious four-poster beds. The tall windows were enchanted to look out onto splendid gardens, decorated with majestic fountains and marble statues. Brocades, intricately embroidered with gold and silver thread, swathed the walls while a gold tasseled velvet rug lay on the floor. It reminded Hermione of the chambers in Versailles that she visited the summer of her third year at Hogwarts.

Malfoy lifted the imperius curse and smirked, “I’m sure you know where we are, don’t you mudblood?”

Hermione had known for sometime. It was a brothel. “Malfoy-“ she began to plead.

“Draco!“ a voluptuous and stunningly beautiful woman screeched. Her raven hair flowed like water around her shoulders and she seemed to emit an ethereal glow that dimmed everything around her. All three men watched her, momentarily awestruck. After knowing Fleur, Hermione immediately recognized the woman as a part veela. The striking woman grabbed Malfoy tightly around the neck and gave him a forceful kiss. “Twice in one week! It must be a dream come true. And when I think that you used to visit me so rarely…” She kissed him again, loudly. Zabini was looking at them with envy before he caught Hermione's gaze. Hermione quickly turned away. 

A second, horribly familiar voice exclaimed faintly, “Theo!” A thin, frail young woman with waist length dirty blond hair and protuberant periwinkle eyes held out her hand to Nott. 

“Luna!” Hermione gasped.

Luna’s wide eyes fell on her. “Hermione,” she said in a far away voice.

“We thought you had died,” Hermione said. 

Luna smiled faintly, almost bitterly. “I’m still here. Have you been captured, too? Are you—you one of us, now?” One thin hand clutched at her diaphanous blue dress.

“She might be, if she doesn’t behave.” Malfoy disentangled himself from Natya and pointed at Hermione. “If you don’t want to become a whore, I suggest you do everything you’re told.”

“Come on Draco. This is no fun,” Natya cooed, pulling him to the bed in the middle. “I have a few very fun things in mind, that I know you’ll love.”

“Luna—“ Hermione began. Nott already had Luna locked in a kiss.

“I suppose I’m paired with you,” Zabini said with repugnance. He roughly pushed her onto the left most bed.

“Please, don’t. I know you dislike me,” Hermione pleaded.

He whipped off her pillowcase with a hard tug. “You’re quite wrong, Granger. I hate you. You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? That you’re a witch, better at magic than all of us? This is to teach your place. You are a mudblood. You’re no lower than a common muggle. Your kind is meant to serve mine. Now undress me.”

A lump of despair and panic started to grow in Hermione’s throat. She stared at the shiny black buttons on his robes without movement.

“Do it. Should I leave you here to be properly trained?” Zabini threatened. 

Hermione cleared her mind and forced herself to be rational. One time here with him is worth escaping the fate of a prostitute, or rather a sex slave, since she doubted Luna and Natya were getting paid. Hermione swallowed the lump as best she could and began to undress him. 

Although Zabini was undeniably handsome, with smooth olive skin and dark liquid eyes, there was also something undeniably repulsive about him. His aristocratic face was always twisted in an expression of arrogance and derision. He had been like that at school, too, always looking down in condescension at others, save for a select few Slytherins. Now, as Zabini towered above her, naked, the only change was a gleam of hunger in his dark eyes.

“Get on the bed and spread your legs,” Zabini ordered. 

This was nothing, Hermione told herself. Next to them, Malfoy and Natya were already at it. Natya was on her hands and knees, shrieking in ecstasy every time Malfoy pushed into her. It was just an act. Hermione lay back on the black silk sheets and nudged her legs apart a little.

Zabini narrowed his eyes at her disobedience and tapped her calf with his wand. The contact burned her skin like fire. Biting her lip, Hermione opened her legs wider. 

“I expect that you won’t be so foolish as to fight me.” Zabini moved over her, forming a cage. His piercing emerald eyes dared her to rebel. Hermione closed her eyes.

“I want you to look at me as I fuck you,” he ordered. 

Zabini was more of sadistic bastard than she had thought. Hermione gritted her teeth and opened her eyes. She wanted her glare to stab him and leave him bleeding. 

He smiled and said, “Kiss me.”

I hate you. I hate you, Hermione thought as she raised herself up and pressed her dry lips against his. Both their eyes remained open. 

“Passionately,” Zabini ordered after she withdrew. 

Hermione attacked him with her lips, nipping, sucking, trying to impress upon him her hate. Their eyes had closed, but the entire time, he was icily still. There was only a whisper of his hard cock against her abdomen.

“Tell me that you want to be fucked,” Zabini commanded. “Say that you want me so much you could die.” He smiled at her disbelief. “Do it, Granger.”

“I-I want to be fucked.” Hermione took a deep breath. “I want you so much I could die.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy freeze and look at her. “Fuck me,” Hermione said.

Zabini smiled. “My pleasure, my little filthy mudblood whore.” He fit his pulsing cock at her entrance and drove in hard. Hermione screamed. He was much thicker than Malfoy. She felt like she was being stretched to the point of being ripped apart. Not waiting for her to recover, Zabini pounded on relentlessly.

“In school, you thought you were on a pedestal, didn’t you?” Zabini whispered furiously in her ear. “The teachers loved you. You were at the top of our class. It was all so perfect for you wasn’t it? I hated it. It was so wrong. You're a mudblood, absolutely undeserving of such. I dreamed of knocking you down to your rightful place. And, now? Tell me, where is your place, mudblood?”

Suddenly, Zabini was blasted into the wall. Hermione gasped and clutched at the sheets. 

“Hermione, run!” Luna was standing in front of her, wand pointed at Zabini’s motionless figure. Nott was lying petrified on the bed. Malfoy was in the same state on the floor, while Natya lounged, watching the scene.

“She’ll never make it, Luna,” Natya remarked. “It’s impossible to escape.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” Luna replied with confidence. “Hermione, come on.”

Hermione gaped for a few seconds before coming to her senses and standing up. Immediately, a wave of pain washed over her. Her lower abdomen felt so sore and she was sure the wetness she was feeling was blood. She dared not look. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t save you earlier,” Luna whispered as she looked at Hermione’s used body. 

“It’s okay,” Hermione replied hoarsely. She slipped on the pillow dress—the only clothing she had. She could not help but glance at Malfoy, lying petrified on the rug. His grey eyes flashed at her, furious and warning. “Let’s go,” Hermione said finally, wrenching her eyes away.

“Here, take Malfoy’s wand. I have Theo’s,” Luna said. “We need to—“

“Crucio!” Zabini shouted behind them. 

Fire molded itself onto Hermione, burning, destroying. She felt like it was devouring her alive. Her legs gave out and she writhed in agony on the floor. 

“Expelliarmus!” Luna cried. Zabini dodged. The spell hit a mirror instead, causing a cascade broken glass to fall. 

“Avada Kedavra!” Zabini said.

A green beam of light soared through the air. Luna tried to dodge, but it was too late. She crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut off.

Hermione lay frozen, listening to the sound of her breathing. It had happened again. Once more a friend had died for her. She hoped that Zabini would kill her too. She didn’t deserve to live.

“Finite.” Zabini’s wand pointed to Malfoy and then Nott. There was the sound of clothes rustling as they dressed.

“She’s dead, Nott,” Malfoy said. 

Nott had a finger on Luna’s neck, checking for a pulse. Hermione knew it was useless.

“Why did you kill her?” Nott asked. His voice was monotone and bland.

“She incapacitated both of you and tried to do the same to me. What else did she deserve?” Zabini asked coldly.

“Your wand, Draco,” Hermione heard Nott say. 

“Get up,” Malfoy ordered, wand pointed at her chest.

Hermione didn’t move. 

“Well, Draco you don’t seem to have made much progress with her,” Zabini sneered. “She doesn’t obey you at all. She even tried to escape. I think it’s time that I had her.”

All of a sudden, all of the thoughts swarming in her head flew out. Malfoy had cast a nonverbal imperius curse on her. Immediately, she stood up.

“Fine,” Zabini said furiously. “She needs punishment, though. I—“

“I will handle her punishment,” Malfoy interrupted icily.

Zabini turned without a word and rounded on Natya. “Crucio!” he shouted. Piercing screams reverberated off the walls.

“Please, I didn’t do anything,” Natya pleaded. 

“You didn’t stop them either,” Zabini replied coldly. “Crucio!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Natya sobbed when she finally stopped screaming.

“What’s going on?” The madam of the brothel burst in. She shrieked when she saw Luna’s dead body. 

“She tried to escape,” Zabini said. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m so sorry,” the madam replied. Her hands trembled as she clutched at her sagging chest. “I desperately, desperately hope you gentlemen weren’t hurt. Tonight is f-free of course.”

“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “Just clean this up.” He pushed past her, bidding Hermione to follow. Zabini wasn’t far behind them.

“Draco, I suggest you have that mudblood under your control next time. The dark lord would be furious at any mention otherwise,” Zabini said.

Malfoy stopped abruptly and turned to face the other death eater. “Are you threatening me, Blaise?”

Zabini blinked innocently. “Not at all. I’m merely implying that there are other loyal servants who could ah successfully carry out our master’s orders.”

“I believe that I’m more than what’s needed for this task, don’t you?” Malfoy replied in a tone that blasted ice.

“That remains to be seen,” Zabini replied. They had reached the door leading out.

Malfoy smiled humorlessly. “Goodbye, Blaise.” He flicked his wand, causing the door to fly open with a loud bang. Grasping Hermione’s arm tightly, they disapparated on the spot.


	7. Guilt

Malfoy and Hermione spun to a stop at the gates of Malfoy Manor. With the imperius curse still in place, Hermione was forced to follow him in. However, instead of making his way directly to the manor, Malfoy walked in the direction of the woods.

They walked in silence until Malfoy turned suddenly and took off the imperius curse. The worries and thoughts and guilt all rushed back, but Hermione only stared blankly at Malfoy’s face. His silver eyebrows were furrowed as he glared at her.

“It amazes me how stupid you were to try to escape,” he said.

She did not reply. 

“I wonder what is it that makes others want to sacrifice themselves for you. First there was that Weasley, then that whore.” Malfoy watched her face for a reaction. “You and that Weasley were in love, weren’t you?”

Hermione only stared blankly ahead in silence.

Malfoy sneered. “Weasley sacrificed himself out of love, how romantic. Too bad he isn’t here to watch you fuck me. Then he’d realize that you’re nothing but a common whore.” His finger trailed her collarbone, down to the tip of her breast. Her nipple hardened involuntarily. He went on. “As for Lovegood, she sacrificed herself because of a foolish misguided idea that you and the Resistance, could somehow defeat the dark lord.” Malfoy laughed coldly. “You don’t even have the power or the courage to escape from me.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You let her die in vain.”

“I know,” Hermione replied softly. “I know,” she repeated as a tear trickled down her cheek.

Malfoy withdrew, a bit surprised at his success. 

“You don’t think Ron’s death weighs on me everyday? And now, Luna’s? You don’t think I wish…” Hermione broke down, sobbing. She sat down on the forest floor, knees folded against her chest, and started to rock back and forth. “I don’t deserve what they did. I don’t deserve it at all. Ron, he put himself in front of a killing curse that was meant for me. I wish everyday that he had just let me die.” Hermione fought to stop her tears. She looked up at Malfoy and whispered, “Kill me.”

Silence stretched between them like a fathomless darkness. Finally, Malfoy said, “Don’t take death so lightly. You are alive for a reason.”

Hermione began to laugh. “I can’t believe even you… It seems that you don’t despise me after all.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, mudblood,” Malfoy snapped. “The dark lord controls your fate, not me. Get up. I don’t have time for your sniveling.”

“I don’t believe you. I think that-that you’ve started to have feelings for me,” Hermione replied, chin held high as she stood up.

“You filthy little mudblood, how dare you!” Malfoy roared as he thrust his wand threateningly in her face.

Hermione smiled widely. “Maybe it even started at Hogwarts. I’d always noticed you were looking at me. Is that the reason you volunteered to take me from Voldemort?” She leaned closer and said triumphantly, “You want me. You want me so you can do all the things you dreamed of doing when you were a just frustrated little teenage ferret.” 

“Shut up you little bitch!” Malfoy shouted. Red sparks flew out of his wand, burning holes in her clothes. Hermione’s smile grew wider at the pain.

“It’s true, isn’t it? That you lo—“ Hermione’s words were cut off by Malfoy’s chokehold on her throat. He rammed her backwards into the trunk of a cedar.

“How dare you assume that I could love you, Granger? You, the insufferable little know it all? You, always tagging along with that Potter and Weasley? You, a dirty mudblood? If I even had an inkling of feeling for you, would I do this?” Malfoy pointed his wand at her throat and uttered, “Crucio!”

Hermione screamed in pain. When it ended, she laughed weakly and asked, “Is that all you’ve got?” Suddenly, she pulled him in and mashed his lips to hers. She bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. With the taste of his blood on her tongue, she entered his mouth, stroking, dominating. Immediately, he began to fight back. The battle continued until Malfoy broke apart, panting for breath. 

“Fuck me, Malfoy. Fuck me so hard I lose feeling,” Hermione said before she pulled him in again. 

As their tongues fought for dominance, Hermione sought the fly of his pants. She found it in seconds, aided by the large bulge in the same place. Quickly, she unzipped it and brought out his hard cock, wringing a groan from Malfoy’s lips.

Wasting no time, Malfoy quickly slipped off her dress. Hermione noticed vaguely that his wand had disappeared from his hand. She didn’t want to know where it was. Malfoy palmed her breasts roughly before making his way further down. He thrust a finger into her cunt and squeezed her ass in approval. She was dripping wet.  
“Hold on,” Malfoy muttered. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck. He reached down for her thighs, wrenching them up around his waist, and in one smooth motion, entered her. 

Hermione plunged her nails into his skin at the pain and pleasure of being impaled, so forcefully, so heatedly. 

“Fuck me,” she murmured, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She breathed in his sweat, his musk as he thrust into her, hard and fast. The pain of the trunk’s bark digging into her tender skin at each push made her squeeze her eyes shut and focus on the pleasure. She could feel it, the little waves of pleasure every time he pressed into her. The waves grew larger and larger until finally they crashed over each other. Convulsing in release around him, Hermione dug her heels into his legs and gripped his shoulders with her nails. The feeling of her pussy squeezing him, milking him, sent Malfoy over the edge. With a last thrust deep into her core, he unraveled.

As delirium of their coupling suddenly faded, Hermione began to feel a deep emptiness followed by burning shame. She had voluntarily fucked Malfoy, her enemy. What was she thinking?

“I hate you,” Hermione said. 

Malfoy raised his head to look at her. The expression in his grey eyes was unreadable. 

“I hate myself,” Hermione said venomously. She was the reason Luna died. Even worse, Luna had died for nothing. Hermione wasn’t-wasn’t worth dying for. She couldn’t even escape. She couldn’t break out, avenge Luna, and overthrow Voldemort. She couldn’t do anything. Hermione clenched her fists so hard that her nails were beginning to break the skin. “I—“

“Stop,” Malfoy ordered, voice cold. “I don’t under—“ he began, but broke off. Untangling himself from her, Malfoy seemed to give a tiny shake of his head before composing his face into detachedness. With quick moves, he straightened his clothes and recovered his wand from a pocket.

Hermione was left disgraced and naked against the tree. Her dress was lying on the grass not far away, but she was too apathetic to retrieve it. She stared up at the small patch of blue sky through the foliage. Hermione wanted to wanted to stand there, forever, never moving. Time would go by and she would disappear. All the responsibilities, the guilt, would be gone, erased.

“Get dressed. I don’t have time for your dawdling,” Malfoy said harshly. Shadows played over the Death Eater’s face as he stood, arms crossed. 

Mechanically, Hermione padded over to her dress and slipped it on. She followed Malfoy back to the manor. All the while, something inside of her echoed with hollowness.


	8. Hope

“Master and miss have arrived!” Fobby squealed when she saw them. “Fobby is very sorry that dinner is not ready yet.”

“That’s fine, Fobby,” Malfoy said impatiently. “Just call me when it’s finished.” He turned to Hermione. “Clean yourself up. My mother is going to come for dinner. I won’t have you shock her with your uncouth muggle filthiness.”

To be honest, Hermione didn’t give a damn. Nevertheless, Hermione only gave a nod and left to obey. She wanted to be alone.

The servants’ bath was a small windowless room next to her bedroom. At the side stood a porcelain tub with ornate silver clawed feet, most likely a relic of a bygone era. Hermione turned on the tap and stripped. Her dress was stained, but she had no wand to clean it. It was disturbing that she had only thought of using a wand for a Scourgify spell. 

Above the bare sink, there was a small oval mirror, only displaying her head. That was enough to shock Hermione into reverie. The woman she saw had a tangle of unruly brown hair, dead eyes the color of mud, and a broken fragileness in her pale lips. It was her, she knew, and yet she could not believe how much she had changed in a week.

The tub was almost full, resembling a rippling white lake. After settling in, Hermione wanted nothing better than to fall to sleep and let everything all just disappear. Her eyes stayed open. 

She was responsible for Ron’s death, and now Luna’s. She didn’t deserve their sacrifices and she could never make it up to them. Hermione had dedicated her life to the Resistance after Ron and Harry died, but no matter how hard she worked, she could never finish their quest and defeat Voldemort once and for all.

Hermione slipped deeper into the water. Now Luna… Malfoy would never let her go. She couldn’t escape. How was she going to continue to fight for the cause so many had died for? Hermione closed her eyes and completely submerged herself. 

What was her next plan of action? Was there even one? Think, she told herself. Think. She couldn’t let her friends sacrifice themselves for nothing. That outburst in the forest was temporary insanity. Hermione was disgusted at the memory of asking Malfoy to kill her. She hated herself for that moment of weakness, and the sex… She stopped herself from going down that path. But, she noted, he was unexpectedly easy to goad and even easier to seduce. Hermione opened her eyes. Malfoy was the answer.

Suddenly, a pair of hands forcefully wrenched her up. “I will not let you die like this,” Malfoy bit out. “What were you thinking? Just because someone died—“

“I wasn’t trying to drown myself,” Hermione interrupted. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” spat Malfoy. “Thinking? Oh, right. I forgot you are still a brainy know-it-all.” 

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, though he wasn’t staring at that part of her. His eyes were instead shooting fiendfyre into hers. “Why are you here?” Hermione asked indifferently.

Recollecting himself, Malfoy let go of her. “My mother has delicate sensibilities, so you will not be wearing your uniform tonight. Wear this.” He motioned to a bundle of white fabric on the cabinet. 

“Okay,” Hermione said. “Now can you leave?”

He ignored her. There was a growing crease between his eyebrows as he regarded her naked body. She bid herself not to flinch when he reached out to touch a hip. “Who was that?” he asked. “Blaise?” Green and yellow bruises mottled her skin like foliage. 

“No, this was you,” she murmured. 

His hand clenched into a fist. “I need to heal these anyway…” he said, taking out his wand and casting a healing spell. 

Malfoy did have some sense of shame, Hermione noticed, even in her case. 

“Dress quickly,” he ordered. “My mother will be here in half an hour.” The door softly clicked closed.

This won’t be as hard as I thought, Hermione mused. 

XXX

Narcissa Malfoy arrived right on the stroke of seven, along with her new husband, Severus Snape. Hermione immediately stiffened at the sight of him. First, Dumbledore’s murderer, now Voldemort’s right hand man. She watched, hidden by the staircase, as Malfoy greeted his mother and Snape.

“Draco, my dear. How have you been?” the new Mrs. Snape asked in a clear voice. Even though she was growing old, she was still handsome—flowing blonde hair matched with cold blue eyes.

“Fine, mother,” Malfoy answered. “Severus,” he nodded to Snape. “This way,” he motioned, leading them out of sight.

Hermione sighed. She was meant to serve them (actually, only Malfoy) while Fobby waited on his mother and stepfather. She loathed being in the same room as that traitor Snape without being able to curse him into oblivion. All the same, in order to escape, she had to be on her best behavior. Smoothing her plain white dress, she entered the family dining room.

The three all froze when they saw her. Mrs. Snape somehow looked worried at her presence, but soon regained her poise and instead behaved as if there were dung under her nose. Snape, however, narrowed his eyes and said, “I had heard the Dark Lord assigned her to you, Draco. Only, I didn’t know you kept her so close.” 

“She is docile enough to serve us,” Malfoy answered. “Besides, it’s what the Dark Lord desires. She must be shown her place.” On cue, Hermione lowered her eyes.

Snape said nothing more, but continued to watch her. 

“Draco, I agree with Severus,” Mrs. Snape said. “It’s not fitting for a man of your ancestry and status to associate so closely with a mudblood.” 

You have no idea, Hermione thought. 

“Mother, it is what the Dark Lord personally asked me to do,” answered Malfoy with finality. 

His mother tightened her lips but kept silent. 

“Start the courses,” Malfoy ordered. 

Fobby and Hermione brought out the starter course of a light salad sprinkled with apricot slices and topped with a light balsamic sauce.

“So, how have you been, mother?” Malfoy asked in a carefully light tone. 

“Severus and I have been doing well, Draco,” she answered. “Actually the Dark Lord has—“

“Narcissa,” Snape interrupted. He threw a pointed look at Hermione.

“Listen, Draco, I must insist that she be—“

“She’s fine where she is, mother,” Malfoy said firmly. “It is impossible for her to escape. Be assured there is no way for anything you say now to travel into the ears of the Resistance.”  
“Draco, I advise you to be careful,” Snape warned. “A little caution is never out of place. We have something else to talk about, of great importance.”

Malfoy’s eyes hardened, but all the same, he said, “Fine. Mudblood, leave us.”

Once the door closed behind her, Hermione immediately put her ear to the door and tried to listen. It was no good. But, now she was free to do as she liked. Hermione stretched and folded herself into a great armchair by the fire. It was time to plan. 

“I found you,” a soft voice came from behind her.

She whipped around. 

Snape was standing in the doorway, swathed in shadows. 

“What do you want?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t have much time, Miss Granger,” he said. “Only know this: be ready. Goodbye, Miss Granger.”

“What do you mean?” she replied. “Wait!”

He was already gone. 

Hermione rested her head on the tops of her knees. Snape was Voldemort’s most trusted servant. There was no way he could possibly help her, was there?


	9. Reversal

That night, Hermione tossed and turned in her bed. Every time she closed her eyes, she could only see Luna’s stunned face, illuminated by green. To occupy her mind, Hermione tried to plan out her escape. Even that didn’t work, because she couldn’t imagine how Malfoy would react. Would he fall for it, or would he be unmovable? She really knew very little about him.

After five years, Malfoy had changed a lot from a cowardly spoiled bully to… what? Hermione couldn’t even start to describe him now. Evil? Over-confident? Very, very selfish? Extremely fucked-up?

Hermione turned to her side and stared at the whitewashed wall. No matter what, she would escape. Malfoy would get his due. 

She closed her eyes and soon fell asleep.

XXX

The next morning, as she was cleaning the windows with Fobby, Hermione saw Malfoy walk down the driveway and disappear outside the gates. He was wearing black Death Eater robes.

“Do you know where Malfoy is going?” Hermione asked the house elf. 

Fobby looked up with big trusting green eyes. “The Master is going to work, Miss.”

“Where?” she asked.

The house elf shrugged. “Fobby does not know.”

“Oh, what about last night? What did the three discuss?” she asked.

“The Dark Lord wants—“ Suddenly, Fobby began banging her head against the window. “Bad Fobby! Bad Fobby! Fobby must not tell anyone the family secrets. Bad Fobby!” 

“Fobby, stop!” Hermione grabbed the mad house elf’s shoulders and pulled her away. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s, uh, just keep cleaning, okay?” 

The Malfoys’ house elf rubbed her bruising forehead and smiled shakily. “Yes, Miss.”

The two continued cleaning from morning until dusk—going from the windows to chandeliers (cleaning each piece of crystal took ages and ages) to the laundry (Malfoy seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of black robes). 

Malfoy arrived as usual at the stroke of seven. Hermione made herself go down to receive him. 

He smiled crookedly when he saw her. “Right at your master’s beck and call, aren’t you? Like a good slave?” he taunted. Malfoy seemed to be in a good mood, she noted.

“Of course,” she answered sycophantically. “What would master like?”

Malfoy frowned. “For you to cut out that disgustingly fake attitude. What do you want?”

Damn, he wasn’t falling for it. She was being too obvious. It wouldn’t do to make him suspicious, so Hermione answered quickly, “I want to go outside. I’m sick of being trapped in this house.”

“And why should I agree? What will I get in return?” he asked.

Selfish, as usual, Hermione thought. But, this also gave her an opportunity. “Whatever you want. I don’t care. I can’t stand being in here another minute,” Hermione said. That last part, at least, was true.

“You said it first,” Malfoy warned. “Fine, I’ll take you after dinner. Why don’t you serve me.”

“I haven’t eaten yet either. Shouldn’t I—” 

“That wasn’t a question, mudblood.”

Malfoy sat at the head of the great mahogany dining table while Hermione stood to his right, waiting to fill his glass with fifty-year-old Bordeaux and serve him the latest course. 

All the time, though, Malfoy was watching her. The most disconcerting thing, however, was his mouth. It was curved with mockery, and yet never uttered a word. 

Finally, when Hermione couldn’t take it anymore, she asked, “Do you have something to say?”

Malfoy ignored the rudeness of the question. “I’m just imagining all the things I’m going to do to you,” he said softly.

Something about that phrase and his manner made Hermione snap. “Oh, you just love having a personal toy, don’t you? A living thing that’s all yours to play with? It gives you such a depraved sense of power.”

There was a silence. Hermione wanted to sew her mouth shut. This could ruin everything. 

Then, Malfoy began to laugh. “It sounds like you understand me, Granger. Have you ever wanted that? A human being that you and only you own? Someone to whom you could do anything… You’re right—it’s this power—it feels like pure energy.” 

Hermione knew that feeling too. She first wanted it when she saw Ron and Lavender glued together by the mouth. She fantasized about kidnapping Ron, punishing him, tearing the apology from his trembling lips, making him promise that all along she was the only one he loved. She wanted absolute control. 

She was too lost in thought to feel the hand pressing at the small of her back. 

“I’m tired of waiting. Let’s go.” Malfoy led her quickly through the corridors and outside. “Destination?” he asked.

“The sea,” Hermione breathed.

Crack! They materialized on sandy slopes, the whole deep sapphire of the sea shining before them. The warm sea breeze played while the waves rushed on, ever advancing and retreating. It was cold, but Malfoy was warm. His arm was wound possessively around her waist, drawing her closer. 

Act according to the plan, Hermione told herself. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” Hermione murmured.

“As long as you give me what I want,” Malfoy replied. 

Hermione made herself ask, “What do you want?” 

“All you have.”

The kiss was inevitable. Hermione devoured him, and let herself be devoured. The hot press of his fingers along the column of her throat, the silk of his skin under her palms, the push and pull of their bodies, everything.

This was a power play, and Hermione played to win. She would not be his toy. Instead, he would be hers. 

Hermione ran her hand down the length of his body, then tantalizingly slowing to a stop at his growing erection.  
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” she asked, giving his cock a stroke.

Malfoy smiled. “This is all but one.” He pulled her dress off with leisure. 

Hermione shivered in the wind, nipples hardening. He took one between his fingers and murmured, “Mmm, delicious.” Instead of leaning in, he stepped back, out of Hermione’s reach. 

“On your hands and knees,” he ordered. She obeyed. The sand felt hard and rough on her skin. There was the sound of a zipper, then the nudge of a familiar appendage. Except, it wasn’t at her core—it was at her anus.

“Relax,” Malfoy said. Hermione could almost hear the sneer in his voice as he pushed in. It burned. Afterwards, there was nothing more that the thrusts—deep and painful. She had only been deluding herself. She was the toy. He could do whatever he wanted with her. She could never escape.

His fingers clenched particularly hard at her hips, and she felt him come. He pulled out, but Hermione didn’t move. 

Malfoy patted her ass. “Thanks, mudblood, for the fuck.”

The plan wouldn’t work—because he had no compassion. Malfoy would only use her. When there was no more to take, he would discard her. That was it.

It couldn’t be. She would not wait passively for the end. Hermione stood up, dusted off her knees, and smiled. “You’ve still left me unsatisfied,” she said.

“Oh, really?” he replied, eying her hungrily. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“Why don’t you use your mouth?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy cocked a silver eyebrow. “You want to be eaten out?”

She smirked. “Doesn’t every girl want that?” She closed in, stopping only when her lips were only millimeters from his, and whispered, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Grey eyes not leaving hers, Malfoy kneeled down and parted her thighs. His first lick was tentative and quick, the next more forceful and pleasurable. Hermione clutched locks of his silver hair as he continued, pulling her deeper and deeper into the depths of pleasure. She came with a silent moan, but it was her taste on his tongue that brought the most satisfaction. 


End file.
